


Oh! Darling!

by castielsdemons



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Humor, Bunker Fic, Fallen Castiel, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pining Dean, everything about this story is ridiculous, except it's 7+1 things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-14 16:55:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3418376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsdemons/pseuds/castielsdemons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Castiel has fallen, Dean wants to let him know how much he cares about him. And if it takes two or three (or eight) tries to get it right, then so be it.<br/>Or, the seven times Dean tried to tell Cas he loves him and the one time he actually got it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh! Darling!

**Author's Note:**

> Fic inspired by R. McKinley's [8 Ways To Say I Love You](http://thoughtcatalog.com/r-mckinley/2012/12/8-ways-to-say-i-love-you/).  
> Title inspired by "Oh! Darling" by the Beatles.  
> Apologies on the spelling errors and grammar errors! I'm doing my best to catch them all!
> 
> Warning for brief Dean/OFC.

**1.**

After the hunt, Dean goes out for a drink.

It’s nice. It’s almost like the old days. Sam is back at the motel, sleeping off today’s hardships, Castiel waiting for them at the Bunker. Dean drinks, not enough to get himself smashed, but he feels pleasantly buzzed by the time a pretty blonde takes the stool next to him. She smiles at him appraisingly before ordering herself a beer.

It’s easy to turn on the charm. Her name’s Melissa. Dean likes her, because she’s sarcastic and quick and beautiful. She’s kinda on the short side, but Dean can tell she’s a little spitfire.

Dean pays for her drink and they leave together—her place. They can hardly keep their hands off each other as they stumble up the stairs to her apartment, and it takes her several tries to open the door before they trip inside. It feels good, fuck, it feels _great_ , even, better than it has in years. Dean’s almost forgot what it’s like to be desperate for someone, for touch, the heat.

As soon as he’s shed his shirt and jeans, she’s pushing him onto the bed and climbing on top of him, falling down in a tangle of limbs. Her lips are on his neck, and he’s sure he’s going to have a hickey there tomorrow. Dean rolls his hips, searching for friction and moaning when he finds it.

She pulls back sharply, searching his face. “What did you just call me?” she asks, offense in her voice.

Dean stops instantly, looking up at her. “Uh. Melissa?”

“No,” she says. “You said, ‘Cas.’”

“What?” Dean says, his stomach dropping.

His sadness, disappointment, and/or sheer horror must have shown on his face, because her expression moves from pissed off to knowing. “Oh, honey.”

+++

Dean ends up staying at her place. But, instead of spending the night in her bed, they move to the kitchen table and talk over coffee and whiskey, and she learns all about Castiel. She offers her sympathy, understanding, advice, and goes to bed sometime after one, leaving Dean alone in the kitchen.

He pours a shot of alcohol into his coffee mug and takes a sip. It tastes pretty shitty, actually, but Dean’s not drinking for pleasure now. He’s drinking because he’s kind of a fucked-up human being.

This is an incident that has really opened his eyes. Sure, he’s been pining for a while over Cas, but this is definitely uncalled for. Usually the feelings he had for guys would go away after a while or could be remedied by a good one-night stand with a woman, but it’s been months and the feelings haven’t simmered down and obviously the one-night stand is out of the question now.

He could blame it on the fact that Cas is human now and living in the Bunker now that his feelings have flared up, but that wouldn’t be the entire truth. Truth is, Dean’s always been a little bit in love with Cas. His feelings haven’t changed, they’ve just gotten harder to ignore.

So hard to ignore, in fact, that he has an almost overwhelming urge to tell Castiel how he feels.

He finds his jeans on the floor and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. He unlocks it and stares at the screen for a long time, looking at Castiel’s number. He finally presses the “call” button and holds the phone up to his ear, listening to it ring.

It goes to voicemail. Of course it does, it’s two in the fucking morning.

Dean’s about to hang up but instead he holds on, listening to the automated voice telling him to leave a message. Once the tone beeps to cue him to start his message, his brain stops working and he chickens out of his original plan.

“Uh… hey, Cas.” He hates how his voice slurs, how he stutters. He sounds like an idiot. “The, um, hunt went well. Sammy and I are coming home tomorrow. Should be home before dark.”

He pauses again, biting his lip. And then he says, “Really wish you were here, Cas. Miss you.”

“Kinda glad you didn’t come, though. This hunt was a _bitch_. Wouldn’t have wanted you to get hurt, or…” He coughs, feeling awkward. “Would really hate it if you got hurt. You know that, right? Really hope you know how much I… you know. Need you. And if you, like, yeah… I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”

The tone beeps, signalling the end of the message before he finishes his thoughts. Dean sighs and shoves the phone back into his pocket, a sinking feeling in his stomach as he realizes he probably sounded exactly like he was: drunk, desperate, heartsick and pathetic. Really, really pathetic.

He gets up, moves to the couch, and tries to fall asleep, to no avail.

**2.**

In the morning, Dean returns to the motel he and Sam had checked into days earlier. Dean is surprisingly quiet, subdued after last night. If Sam notices, however, he says nothing.

They leave after breakfast and get home just after nightfall. Cas greets them outside, smiling a wide, gummy smile that makes Dean want to grab both sides of his face and kiss him senseless.

But Dean can’t do that, because there’s no way that Castiel would be cool with that. Not when Dean’s the way he is.

But as the days start to pass, Dean starts to shut down. He feels exposed and vulnerable, especially since Castiel doesn’t mention the voicemail. Has he heard it? If he has, why doesn’t he mention it? What does Dean do then? What if he’s guessed Dean’s feelings and decided to pretend it never happened?

Of course, Dean always assumes the worst.

+++

His words to Castiel become few and far between. He’s not saying anything unkind to Castiel, not being snappish or rude, so when Castiel snaps at Dean’s short, monosyllabic answers and storms upstairs to his room, Dean’s a little shocked.

Sam stares at Dean, wide-eyed and confused. “What did you do?”

“Hell if I know,” Dean mutters, except that he _does_ know. Sadness threatens to close his throat while guilt claws at the inside bars of his ribcage. Instead, he just sighs and stands, clearing away his dishes from dinner and rinsing them off in the sink. And then he goes upstairs to talk to Cas.

A settling feeling of guilt and dread churns Dean’s stomach. But as much as he wants to chicken out, he wants closure more, and he can’t just _not_ talk to Castiel after he’s stormed out like that.

He’s hesitating in front of Castiel’s door, hand raised to knock, when Castiel opens the door before he can get the chance. There’s a scowl on his face, his eyes cold and cloudy like the middle of winter.

“What, Dean?” he snaps.

Dean cringes at the obvious exasperation in Cas’ voice, the knowledge that he caused his anger hitting him like a punch in the stomach.

“Could we…” Dean’s tone is shockingly solemn, even to himself. He swallows the lump in his throat before continuing. “Could we talk?”

Castiel stares at him a moment, contemplating, before moving aside to allow Dean entrance into his room.

“What?” Castiel asks, voice sharp.

Dean grimaces at the tone of his voice. “Wanted to know why you’re, you know. Pissed at me.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed. “I’m not mad at you, Dean. Just frustrated.”

Dean’s throat goes dry. “Did you… did you check your voicemail?” he asks. His voice lurches with unsure-ness and he hates it, hates how exposed he feels, how weak and unstable.

Cas is silent for a moment. “Yes. Were you… intoxicated?”

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah.”

The room is quiet, and Castiel takes on a thoughtful expression that Dean doesn’t understand. After a few moments of this, Dean starts to panic.

“I’m sorry,” he says, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t have called. It was stupid of me.” He starts moving backwards, turning to head towards the door.

“Dean…”

He freezes when he feels Castiel’s hand on his arm, gently pulling until they’re face-to-face.

“It’s okay, alright?” When Dean doesn’t answer, Cas raises an eyebrow. “Dean.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “It was kinda out of line.”

“Dean, I said it was _fine_ , and I mean it,” Castiel says, annoyance bleeding into his voice.

“Then why are you being all pissy about it?” Dean says back, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible, and failing miserably.

“I wasn’t being pissy about it, until you forced me to be pissy about it,” Castiel snaps. “You call me and tell me that you miss and you need me and—and you get back and don’t speak to me? What the hell is that, Dean?”

“I—”

“You know, it’s not a bad thing to miss someone? It’s not a bad thing to be emotionally attached to someone else? To want them around? To ‘need’ them around, as you say?”

“I know, I know, I just—”

“Do you want me to think you don’t care about me? Do you regret what you said?”

“No!” Dean exclaims, backtracking. “Of course not! You’re putting words in my mouth, Cas, Jesus!”

“Then _what_ , Dean?” Castiel growls, getting closer and fuck, Dean can’t breathe when he hears Cas’ voice low and gravelly like that.

“I’m just—” Dean starts, stuttering, unsure. “I—”

“‘I’m just’ what?”

“I’m scared, Cas, okay? I’m fucking scared!” Dean finally gets out.

Everything freezes. The anger slips from Castiel’s face in an instant, leaving behind confusion, shock… sympathy. Ever since Castiel’s become human, he hasn’t been able to hide his emotions as well as he used to. It’s like reading a book with him.

“What are you scared of, Dean?” Castiel asks softly. He takes a step closer.

Jesus, why can’t Castiel learn about personal space? Doesn’t he know that getting this close is dangerous? Doesn’t he know what Dean is thinking every time he gets close like this? How Dean wants to grab Castiel and kiss him, steal touches from him, how Dean’s brain short circuits?

Dean swallows. His throat is tight.

“Everything,” he answers, a little too honestly. It’s true, too true, that this scares Dean, how he’s fallen so hard for Cas. With everybody else that Dean liked—loved, whatever—it was never this long lasting, this intense. Especially when he wasn’t even sure about the other person’s feelings.

Cas keeps moving closer.

“It is perfectly okay,” Castiel says, taking Dean’s wrist and sliding his hand up his arm, “to be afraid.”

Dean swallows almost audibly.

“It does not make you any less respectable, nor does it change others’ opinions of yours. Including mine.”

If Dean were to tip his head forward, his lips would collide with Castiel’s.

Castiel smiles wanly. “In fact, it makes me realize how brave you must be.”

“I’m not brave,” Dean responds finally. His voice comes out as a choked whisper, his heart is working double time, his palms are sweaty, and he needs Cas to move away from him or else he’s going to do something they’ll both probably regret.

“You _are_ brave. In all the eons I’ve been alive, you are the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

So Dean kisses him. How could he not? With Cas saying all those things about him, so close, caressing Dean’s touch-starved skin, he’s at the end of his goddamn rope. But when Castiel just stands there, unresponsive, Dean is about to pull away, say sorry again, build up his walls once more and shut himself inside.

But then Castiel does the impossible. He kisses Dean back.

He grabs Cas’ waist and pulls them even closer, the hot lines of their bodies flush against one another. Cas winds his hands in Dean’s hair, who groans into Castiel’s mouth.

It’s sloppy, a little uncoordinated, but it’s urgent and hot and fucking everything Dean’s wanted. He almost lets the words slip, but even in the heat of the moment, he is all too careful of the words he chooses.

**3.**

The next few weeks pass in a bit of a blur. At first, things are tentative between the pair of them—kisses unsure and slow and exploratory when they shared them, testing the boundaries. But lately things have been revving up a little as they start to become comfortable with themselves and each other, and the looks Sam gives them are becoming less confused and more smug, as if Sam had something to do with it, the little shit.

Dean enters the library, leaning on the doorframe with his hands in his pockets. “We should go out tonight,” Dean says to Cas, sitting at one of the tables in the library, reading up on lore.

Cas looks up from his book to blink at Dean. “Why?” he asks, tilting his head in question.

Dean shrugs. “Because you deserve it,” he says simply. “Ever been to a nice restaurant, Cas?”

Cas shakes his head.

“Well, you got a lot of catching up to do,” Dean says, a small smile forming on his lips. “Let’s start now, hm?”

So they go out. They go to the nicest, most expensive restaurant they can find within a 30-mile radius, a place that demands one wear a tie and a suit. A place that serves beautiful-looking dishes and has low lighting and ten different kinds of forks by each plate that all look pretty similar to Dean but actually have a _use_ , or at least that’s what he assumes. A place where the people drink fine wine like Dean drinks cheap beer.

Dean is uncomfortable. But he wants Castiel to have this, because he deserves this—he deserves all the pleasantries in life, now that he’s human. He should experience everything.

When the food arrives, Dean looks at his plate and is appalled by what he sees.

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Dean says, a little too loudly, staring at his plate in utter disgust.

“Dean, what are you…?” Castiel says, rising a little from his seat to see what Dean’s staring at. He takes one look at the tiny portion on Dean’s plate and starts cracking up while Dean is absolutely _amazed_ at how they can charge such a high price for such small portions. Is there shredded gold on it? He feels like he should check.

About two minutes into Cas’ laughing fit, he finally pulls his damn act together and tells Dean that they should get out of there. Dean asks the waiter for the check, and twenty minutes later they’re down the street at a hole-in-the-wall diner with their ties untied or hanging loose around their necks, their suit jackets abandoned in the backseat of Dean’s car.

They order burgers and fries. It seems that Jimmy’s preference for burgers has carried over to Castiel, who downright moans when he takes the first bite. Dean initiates a game of footsie under the table, which has Castiel laughing while definitely leaves bruises on Dean’s shins. They even share a slice of pie afterwards.

The whole ordeal has an air of “first date” to it. The night is so perfect, however, that Dean can’t even dream of ruining the feeling. So he keeps the words he so desperately wants to say to himself.

 

**4.**

It’s a Friday night. Dean perks up when he hears a tentative knock on his door. He jumps in surprise and looks at the watch on his wrist—almost midnight.

“Dean?” Cas’ voice is muffled through the wood.

“One sec,” Dean announces, pushing himself away from his desk and grabbing a pair of sweatpants he had discarded on the floor. He stumbles across the room ungracefully, yanking open the door a little too enthusiastically. Cas’ hair is ruffled, his t-shirt listing to the left just a little.

“Hey,” Dean says, breathless. Castiel has always made him breathless. “Uh, it’s late.”

“Indeed,” Castiel says. “I, um… I had a nightmare and I…”

“Oh,” Dean says, the news weighing down on him a little. Dean knew firsthand that nightmares sucked, and while they might get more manageable, they never stopped sucking. Sometimes Dean still dreamt about hell, the frost creeping over his fingers as he picked up a blade, the screams ripping through the air that split the sky open… he shook the images from his mind, focusing again on Cas. “You wanna to stay the night?”

Cas nods, not meeting Dean’s eyes. That look on his face—was that… was that _shame_?

“Hey,” Dean whispers, soft. He takes Cas’ face in his hands, tilting his head upwards until he meets his eyes. “Nothing to be ashamed of, alright? I get nightmares. Sam gets nightmares. Hell, I’m pretty sure the guy’s peed himself once or twice.”

Cas smiles ever so slightly, nodding. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he says, dropping his hands. He wipes his mysteriously sweaty palms on his sweatpants, suddenly a little lightheaded. “Well, uh. Come on in. ‘Mi casa es su casa’ and all that.”

He steps aside, allowing Castiel access to his room. Dean moves over to tidy up his desk while Cas saunters inside, looking around as if he’s just entered a museum.

Now would be as good a time as any to get to bed, right?

Cas approaches Dean’s bed warily, eyeing it almost suspiciously. “So I just…” he gestures at the bed vaguely.

“Hop in,” Dean says, smiling nervously, pulling back the blanket and sliding under the sheets.

They fall asleep on separate sides of the bed. Strangely, though, during the night, they gravitate towards each other, as they always do.

+++

Dean jerks awake, the unfamiliar feeling of another warm body registering slowing in his sleep-smothered brain. When the fog finally clears, he looks up to see the time—five thirty. Dean glances over Cas’ sleeping form—hair disheveled, clothes rumpled, fabric folds impressed into his cheek. He snores lightly, which Dean thinks is a little cute but would definitely not admit to _anyone._ Dean wonders if he’s dreaming, and what he’s dreaming about if he is.

He lays back down, resting his forehead on the top knot of Cas’ spine, pressing his lips against the warm skin.

“Usually it’s _you_ who watches _me_ sleeping, Cas,” Dean whispers softly, so as to not wake the man beside him. He chuckles lightly. “Look how much we’ve changed in—what? Four years? Five?”

He tugs Cas closer to his chest, his ribcage suddenly feeling too small for the size of his heart. “You asked me once if I thought I didn’t deserve to be saved.” He smiles wanly, knocking his head against the top knot of Cas’ spine. “First time I met you. And you’ve been trying to convince me that I was worth saving ever since.”

He props himself up on his elbow, looking down at Cas’ peaceful, sleeping form. He looks so innocent like this. Younger. Happier.

“God, Cas, I think I love you,” he whispers.

Cas just clamps his eyelids down tighter, his breath catching for only a second. Dean pretends he didn’t hear it.

Cas starts sleeping regularly in Dean’s room.

 

**5.**

“Cas,” he calls into the library one night.

Cas looks up from the book he was reading, Sam looking up as well.

“Hm?” he answers.

“Come help me with dinner,” Dean says, and then disappears back into the kitchen. The radio is playing soft music from its place on the counter, just background noise that helps Dean focus.

He doesn’t need Cas’ help with dinner, but ever since Castiel has started sleeping in Dean’s room it’s hard for Dean to keep himself away from him for too long. Helping him with dinner is just a thinly veiled excuse that gives Dean a reason to put his hands on Cas without it provoking too much smug satisfaction from Sam.

Cas comes in a few seconds later while Dean is shutting the oven door to let the garlic bread bake. He sets the temperature and then moves to stir the noodles again.

“What do you need me to do?” Castiel asks.

“Could you dice those tomatoes for me? Not too small, though, I don’t want tomato mush.”

“Yes, chef,” Castiel snips, and Dean suddenly regrets letting Cas watch the Food Network.

It’s a few minutes into their companionable silence when a song comes on the radio and Dean suddenly stops, smiling wide enough that he feels like his lip’s going to split. He sets down the knife, a ridiculous— _genius_ , but ridiculous—idea popping into his head that he immediately seizes. He turns up the volume briefly before turning around to look at where Cas is dicing the tomatoes perfectly.

He slips a hand over Castiel’s waist, the other snaking up his arm to pull the knife from his fingers. He gently pulls him around until he’s facing Dean, who grins and takes Castiel’s hands and puts them on his shoulders without saying a word.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Castiel asks, a small, knowing smile beginning to pull at his lips.

“What does it look like, Cas?” Dean says, snarky. “I’m dancing. With you. We’re dancing.”

“In the middle of the kitchen?”

“Yes.”

“I thought we were making dinner,” Castiel says coolly, smirking a little.

“You’re not allowed to help me make dinner anymore if you keep running your mouth like that,” Dean says. It’s an empty threat they both know, but Cas snaps his jaw shut anyway.

_“Oh! Darling, if you leave me, I’ll never make it alone,”_ Paul McCartney’s voice promises through the radio. Dean pulls Castiel away from the counter and they start turning in a circle, Dean gripping tightly to Cas’ hips.

_“When you told me…”_

“Dammit Cas, let me lead!”

_“… you didn’t need me anymore…”_

Castiel barks a laugh. “Why should you lead if you have two left feet?”

_“… I nearly broke down and cried.”_

“I do _not._ ”

Castiel laughs again. “Okay, fine, but your bowlegs are getting in the way.”

Dean’s eyebrows scrunch together. “The hell are you talking about?”

Cas bends a little and nudges Dean’s knees with his own, which messes with their rhythm a little but Dean can’t find it within himself to care. “These. I feel they might be messing with your coordination.”

Dean shakes his head and takes Cas’ hand, spinning him around, Castiel’s smile all teeth and gums, eyes crinkling at the corners as he ducks his head to spin under Dean’s arm. Dean can’t help but notice how beautiful Castiel is like this: hair tousled, wearing Dean’s old t-shirt and a pair of his jeans, dancing barefoot with him in the kitchen.

Dean pulls Castiel back against him, awkwardly rocking from side to side while Castiel muffles his laughter into Dean’s shoulder and Dean grins against the shell of Cas’s ear.

“This is ridiculous,” Castiel declares, almost muffled so that Dean didn’t hear it.

“Shut up. You love it.”

Cas hums in agreement. “That, I do.”

They shuffle back and forth, turning and turning. They move closer together until Cas’ head is resting against Dean’s shoulder, his palms slipping until they held Dean’s arms just above his elbow.

Dean tries really hard not to think about how Cas’ breath feels against his neck. Instead he focuses on his bowlegs not getting in the way, which they still do anyway. He leans his head against Cas’ temple, closing his eyes.

Any attempt to keep his thoughts from Cas and his feelings towards him prove impossible. Right now would be a perfect time to tell him those feelings, wouldn’t it? Dean thinks so, and while he’s never been good with this sort of stuff, every nerve in him screams in approval, and he’s about to open his mouth when—

“Is something burning?” Sam calls from the library, voice a little reproachful.

Dean’s head snaps up, opening his eyes. The room is a little smoky and smells just as such. Then the smoke alarms go off, along with the overhead sprinklers.

“Shit!” he says, whipping around to pull the garlic bread out of the oven. A column of smoke billows out when he opens the door, and he waves his arms in a frugal attempt to disperse the grayish cloud. He coughs into his hand, eyes watering from the stinging gas. In seconds he’s soaked with freezing water.

“Goddammit!” Dean yells, noticing the now-wet garlic bread and generally damp dinner.

“Ugh, _Dean_!” Cas calls accusingly, holding his arms out as water soaks his clothes.

“The books!” Sam shrieks in the library.

+++

“Were you going to say something?” Castiel prompts, a half hour later once they’ve opened every possible window, pulled in fans from one of the many Men of Letters’ storage rooms and tried like hell to dry the books. Most of them are okay, but Sam still won’t let him hear the end of it. “When we were in the kitchen…?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean says quickly. “I’ll work it out myself.”

 

**6.**

Castiel opens the lid of the trash can to dump his paper plate in it and finds a half-crumpled piece of paper on top and notices Dean’s handwriting on the back—saying one word. _Cas_.

Putting his plate back on the counter, he looks around, noticing no one else around him. He picks the paper out of the trash, dumps his plate, and retreats to the privacy of his room. There, he unfolds the paper, soaking in the words.

+++

_Cas,_

_I remember when we first met. You asked me if I thought I deserved to be saved, and I didn’t answer. Honestly, I didn’t know what to say. It was a weird idea to me that anyone would think that I did deserve to be saved, after everything I’d done, especially after hell._

_You made me think. Did I deserve to be saved? At the time, I thought, hell no. Now? I’m starting to reconsider._

_It sounds a little stupid to say it like that. It’s been nearly half a decade I’ve known you, and I’m only just now starting to think differently? Seems a little tedious._

_But if I know you, Cas, and I think I do, the only reason I feel like that is because you refused to let me think otherwise. Had it been anyone else, Cas, I don’t know if it would have been possible. I owe you everything for that. I owe you much more than everything._

 

_Yours,_

_Dean_

 

+++

Cas stares at the letter a long time, rereading it. There are times when it was obvious that Dean was pushing too hard into the paper, because the paper was thin and almost broken in some areas, ink-splotched and wrinkly. And then he folds it carefully and puts it the pocket of his jeans.

 

**7.**

Dean shoves the door to the Bunker open, stalking inside and down the stairs. He goes straight to his room and slams the door behind him, the sound echoing throughout the hallways.

He can hear Cas and Sam follow him inside, stopping just down the hallway. Dean can hear them talking in hushed voices down the corridor. He knows they’re talking about him and the urge to break something, to hit, almost overwhelms him. He settles for clenching his fists so tight that when he opens his palm there are red, crescent-shaped impressions from his fingernails. He can see that he didn’t break skin, surprisingly. He’s almost disappointed that he didn’t.

There’s a knock on his door. He doesn’t want to answer it, but he knows that Sam will just walk in anyway if he doesn’t, so he moves to the door, yanking it open.

Castiel stands there instead of Sam, and the emotion suddenly flares in Dean’s chest. He grabs Castiel and pulls him roughly inside, slamming the door behind him. This is a conversation for him and Cas only.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Dean growls. “Were you trying to get yourself killed, is that it?”

Cas crumples. “No, Dean, of course not, I—”

“Then what the hell was that?” Dean shouts. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have fucking died, Cas, it’s a fucking miracle that Sam got there in time—”

“I could have handled it, Dean,” Castiel growls back, his temper rising. “I would have been fine.”

Dean scoffs. “Are you kidding me? Cas, you were unarmed, against the wall, and that demon had a knife. Don’t even pretend.”

“I am stronger than I look,” Castiel snaps.

“Don’t you fucking get it, Cas?” Dean shouts, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him, like the gesture will knock some sense into him. He squeezes so tight there’ll probably be fingertip-shaped bruises there later. “You’re not invincible anymore! Okay? You’re not made of steel. You can get hurt now. You can break.”

He squeezes Castiel’s shoulders again, the flesh and muscle giving easily, pliable and soft. It amazes Dean how Cas went from this strong, powerful inhuman force to this small soul.

“Fuck, _I_ could break you,” he murmurs.

And then the floodgates are open.

The idea that Castiel can die, very possibly _could_ die and not come back is fucking terrifying. Before, he was an angel. Impossibly strong. Soldier of God. Made for war.

But now, he’s a human, just like Dean, with human skin that can tear and rip and bleed and—and _die_ , and it absolutely terrifies Dean that this man, this beautiful man that was so untouchable before is now… so awfully human.

“You—don’t—don’t leave me,” Dean pleads, his voice breaking. “Cas, please. You always leave, you—don’t go.”

It dawns on Dean that it doesn’t make sense for Cas to be the one comforting Dean when Cas is the one who almost died. But he can’t pull himself together—no matter how much he cries, Cas won’t become any more angel than he is now. He will always, always, _always_ be human.

“Please,” Dean says, tears running down his face. “I don’t know if I could… if you die, I might die too, Cas.”

“Dean,” Castiel says.

Dean looks up at him, eyes wet and wide. He stares at Castiel for a few seconds before lurching forward and connecting their lips. Dean kisses him hard, urgently, like he had to kiss him at that exact second.

“Don’t do that again,” Dean growls against his lips. He reaches one hand around until he’s gripping the back of Cas’ neck, holding Cas firmly against him. “Don’t you ever fucking do that again.”

Castiel gasps as Dean’s other hand drifts down to squeeze his hips. “No, Dean, I won’t—”

Cas rocks beneath Dean’s touch, rolling his hips into Dean’s like he’s been doing this forever, when in reality this is the first time Dean’s allowed himself to touch Castiel this way. His hands drop from Cas’ neck to the hem of his shirt and pulls it upwards until Cas’ chest is bare.

Cas moans into Dean’s mouth, fingers gripping at the back of Dean’s neck. He reaches forward and fumbles with Dean’s belt for a few seconds before Dean pushes his hands away.

“Dean,” Castiel pants against his mouth. “Dean.”

“I’m still mad at you, you asshole, don’t think this is—”

“Dean,” Castiel cuts him off, kissing him hard. “You talk too much.”

Dean makes some very dignified whimpering sound at that. This is new territory for him, for both of them, and Dean is equal parts terrified and excited.

Castiel seems to reflect the same sentiment, practically vibrating with nervous energy as he leans forward to kiss Dean. He pitches too far forward, though, and their teeth collide painfully.

“Ow,” Dean says.

“Sorry, sorry,” Castiel says. There’s pure, unadulterated horror in his eyes. Dean wants to melt into a puddle, fucking Christ.

“It’s okay,” Dean soothes. “It’s fine, c’mon.” He pushes Castiel backwards, steering them towards the bed. Castiel’s knees buckle when his legs hit the bed, sitting down and pulling Dean with him. They fall in a tangle of limbs, taking a few seconds to straighten themselves out. Dean chuckles nervously as he kisses Castiel quickly before moving to start taking off his clothes, which he really should have done before he pushed Castiel down on the bed, but…

Castiel starts trying to rid himself of his jeans, arching up underneath Dean to awkwardly shimmy out of them. Dean sits up to allow him more room, fingers working to get his belt off. He tosses the strip of clothing to the side somewhere, the metal buckle clattering against the wooden floors making him jump.

He can’t get his fucking jeans off, when the fuck did this get so complicated—so he gives up and moves to his shirt instead, trying to unbutton it with shaking fingers. It unbuttons with no problem, but when he goes to slide it off his arms, it gets stuck and suddenly won’t come off.

_This is absolutely fucking ridiculous_ , Dean thinks to himself, flailing his arms to get the fucking thing to slide off. He feels incompetent, embarrassed, heat rising to his cheeks.

“Oh my fucking God, really?” Dean complains, trying to grab at it and pull it off, but it just fucking won’t come off. He huffs in frustration, put out like a petulant child.

And Castiel _laughs_. Effectively shattering the tension.

Gone is the sense of urgency, the desperation, the gravity of the situation, as Dean and Castiel both dissolve into laughter. Dean’s head knocks against Castiel’s collarbone as he doubles over, Cas gripping his back as they both fucking giggle. Dean’s flannel shirt is still stuck on his arms, the sleeve stubbornly clinging to his sweaty skin, but it doesn’t seem like such an issue now. He's taking himself too seriously. This is _Cas._

“Oh my God,” Dean wheezes. His chest is tight with love and affection. “Okay, okay, let’s try this again.”

“Let me help,” Castiel says, smiling up at him. He takes Dean’s sleeve in hand, straightening out the fabric and sliding it down his arm, and then doing the same to the other sleeve. Dean just goes with it, allowing Cas to do this for him. Dean sheds the t-shirt underneath by himself, throwing it on the floor. Castiel pushes his jeans down his thighs, and Dean follows Cas’ example by arching up to get rid of the jeans and boxers. He tosses them to the floor before sitting up and straddling Cas’ thighs. He gets a head rush when their bare skin comes into contact.

The atmosphere is suddenly much more relaxed. There’s no rush as he leans in to kiss Castiel, slow and lazy, coaxing away any remaining nervousness. Castiel grins up at him, his smile wide and familiar, and it’s almost impossible to resist kissing him when he looks at Dean like that, so adorable and beautiful.

Dean takes them both in hand, stroking them slowly. Castiel pants against his jaw, hands reaching up to smooth over his back and grab his hips, grinding them together.

Dean cries out a little, and Castiel is breathing heavier and heavier, his grip on Dean’s back and shoulders getting tighter and tighter.

His hand is caught between both of their bodies, and it’s a little difficult to move, but he’ll be damned if he asks Cas to stop, so he works through it, stroking them both faster until they’re both coming, oh God, oh Christ—

He groans and collapses on Castiel’s body, pleasure surging through him in waves, warmth blooming on their skin. He just waits and rides it out, rolling over and off of Castiel once he’s sure it’s over, sliding an arm over Castiel’s stomach to hold him while he basks in the afterglow.

Clean-up is a half-hearted event at best; instead, they both favor to pull the covers over their sweaty bodies and sleep off the events of the day.

“Don’t do that again, though,” Dean says, once they’re both sheltered beneath the blankets, damp sheets sticking to their fevered skin. “Okay? Never again.”

“Never again,” Castiel agrees, his breath still a little labored. He leans over to kiss Dean, slow and sweet. “I promise.”

Dean knows that he's telling the truth. He falls asleep quickly, dreaming about nothing.

**8.**

When Dean wakes up the next morning, he slowly cracks his eyes open to catch Cas looking at him, hair rumpled from sleep and from last night’s events, eyes glowing.  He smiles when he sees that Dean is awake, and it’s so genuinely happy that Dean doesn’t even try to tease him for watching him while he was asleep.

“Good morning,” Castiel says amusedly, like Dean’s done something funny or entertaining in some way. He dips down to peck a kiss on Dean’s lips.

“Good morning,” Dean greets, humming and pulling Cas back down for another quick kiss, and another. Cas smiles against his lips, chuckling, throwing a leg over Dean’s torso and sliding on top of him, kissing Dean more deeply. Dean gasps, moving his hands to fist in Cas’ dark hair.

After a few moments, Castiel pulls back, breathing heavily. He rolls off of Dean, who suddenly feels cold at the loss of Cas’ warm skin against his.

“I’m going to make breakfast,” Castiel says at Dean’s whine of dissent, opening one of Dean’s drawers and pulling out a shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

“Tease,” Dean accuses.

“You love it,” Castiel says, and exits the room.

And, damn him, he’s right.

+++

Dean leans on the doorway of the kitchen, watching as Cas slowly makes his way around to making a cup of coffee. The bruise on his face has healed up mostly, leaving just a sickly-looking yellowish tinge behind.

“Cas, I love you.”

Dean doesn’t even think about saying the words now, doesn’t second-guess himself or regret his actions. He just says them, because he knows and he wants Cas to know, too.

Dean can hear his sharp little intake of breath, his own heart thumping wildly against his breastbone. The moment stretches on forever, as if time is suspended and the other foot is hovering just above the ground but will never drop. Dean waits, his mind moving a mile a minute.

Finally, Cas turns to him, a shy smile on his face. He sets the coffee down, stepping closer until he’s flush against Dean, winding his arms around Dean’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss that makes their teeth collide. Dean makes an insistent noise when he feels Cas’ teeth graze his bottom lip, cupping the back of his neck to hold him in place.

Finally, he pulls back, breathing noticeably heavier than before, and buries his head into Dean’s shoulder. They stand like that for what feels like forever, Dean’s arms tightening around Cas’ waist. He plants a soft kiss on the top of Castiel’s head. Cas chuckles and leans in until Dean can feel his lips against the shell of his ear.

“I know,” he whispers.

Then he exits the kitchen, sauntering off to the library, leaving Dean speechless. A slow, wide smile spreads over his face.

“Did you just—?” he shouts to the other room. “Did you just fucking _Han Solo_ me?” He can hear Cas’ laughter from the other room.

It doesn’t take too much persuasion for Cas to (properly) say it back.


End file.
